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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23990836">How I've Loved You</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttcatcher/pseuds/buttcatcher'>buttcatcher</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Feral Jaskier | Dandelion, Gen, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Has Feelings, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia Loves Jaskier | Dandelion, Higher Vampire Jaskier, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion Loves Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, M/M, Non-Human Jaskier | Dandelion, because lord knows the witcher is as thick as his thighs, by being forced to actually listen to the words jaskier sings, jaskier decides that geralt needs to learn his lesson, kind of a song fic, this is just little moments throughout their journey</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 02:01:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>9,045</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23990836</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/buttcatcher/pseuds/buttcatcher</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Jaskier refuses to talk to Geralt unless it's through song because Geralt really needs to pay attention to his lyrics and doesn't listen any other way, apparently.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon &amp; Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon &amp; Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia &amp; Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion, Jaskier | Dandelion &amp; Yennefer z Vengerbergu | Yennefer of Vengerberg</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>335</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>How I've Loved You</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>All things considered, Geralt knows being forgiven isn’t supposed to be this easy.</p><p>A year and a handful of months had passed since the last time hurt blue eyes were cast on him, the weight of them a solid presence on his back as the crunching of footsteps took the only thing Destiny hadn’t fucked with away from him.</p><p>It had taken Geralt a year to admit to himself the silence that followed his back wasn’t the reprieve he thought it would be, wasn’t the same as it had been when on the Path before that godsdamn tavern in Posada.  It was a growing chasm of uncomfortable quiet that surrounded him now, every snap of a twig and every flutter of a bird’s wings suddenly so much more pronounced now that no colorfully dressed bard was keeping pace beside himself and Roach, blathering on about this and that in an entirely one sided conversation.</p><p>It was actually Roach who was the one to convince him he should apologize, surprisingly enough. After he and Ciri had practically collided into each other in the forest, he could tell she knew something was wrong with him over the few months they picked their way across the Continent toward Kaer Morhen, but without bringing up Jaskier, she had no way of knowing the sin he had committed.</p><p>Roach, though. Roach was <i>pissed.</i></p><p>It took barely a day after Jaskier’s disappearance down the other side of the mountain for the horse to understand the colorful human who snuck her treats when he thought Geralt wasn’t coming and didn't intend to go back with them. After that, she made it a point to ignore Geralt when he whistled for her, turned her flank to him when he tried to assemble her mane into the neat little braids the bard was always showering her in just to placate her; even nipped his fingers when he tried to feed her the same treats she was so used to getting from another man.</p><p>He fought with the beast for a time, tugging her reins when she refused to listen to him or started acting petulant. It was a pointless endeavor; she can be just as stubborn as his witcher brothers, and after a month of having to walk beside his own fucking horse because she wouldn’t let him ride, he admitted to himself why she is suddenly so upset with him. </p><p>Finally, it had sunk in, thanks to his <i>horse</i>, that he had royally fucked up.</p><p>“We need to find someone before we get to Kaer Morhen.” Is what Geralt rumbles nonchalantly as he and Ciri lay out their bedrolls beside the waning fire they had started when the sky began to go dark, a gentle Autumn breeze blowing the flames closer to them  and casting dancing shadows over their prone forms. It was easier to say things in the dark despite his vision not suffering due to the lack of light, the black space around them hiding his expression. Ciri seemed to think the same as he heard her shuffle in her bedroll to face him on her side, those wide green eyes of hers wise beyond her years. “Shouldn’t be difficult.”</p><p>“Is it Yennefer?” Ciri asks innocently. The woman she knew as Yennefer had yet to be found, though Geralt assured her that if they needed to find her, he would know where to look.<br/>
She couldn’t help but notice the pinch around the witcher’s eyes when she spoke her name though.</p><p>“No, it’s not her.”</p><p>The girl lets out a hum as she studies the man resting on his back beside her, hands clasped loosely above his abdomen as those intriguing catlike eyes stare into the sky, memories undoubtedly flashing before them. </p><p>“Is this person the reason why you’re so cranky?” It’s a lighthearted tease and they  both know it, though Geralt isn’t much in the mood for jokes. </p><p>“Hmm.”</p><p>Ciri blows out a puff of air and copies Geralt, rolling onto her back to stare past the treetops and up into the starry sky. “What do they look like? I can help keep a lookout for them.”</p><p>Geralt takes a moment to conjure up a memory of the bard that haunts him every waking moment: red rimmed eyes highlighting breathtaking blue irises, trembling hands as they clutch at the fabric covering a lithe chest, lips forming the words Geralt never wants to hear again: <i>”Well, that’s not fair.”</i></p><p>“He’s a bard; sings and plays the lute.” Geralt begins, ignoring the piercing sensation in his chest at the memory. “Blue eyes, brown hair, dresses in the most garish clothing you can imagine. Never stops talking.”</p><p>“Is he tall? Short? Human?” Ciri prompts.</p><p>Geralt answers her with a shake of his head. “He’s definitely human. About my height, much more skinny though.” He turns his head to study the side of the face he’d been guiding since Destiny thrust her into his life, the plumpness of her cheeks that most children tend to have when they get enough to eat pleasing to see.</p><p>At least she wasn’t starving anymore, even if she was stuck traveling with a mutant.</p><p> “His name is Jaskier.”</p><p> </p><p>As usual, Geralt hears Jaskier well before they see him.</p><p>Tucked away in the corner of a run down tavern in the absolute shit show that was Velen, a clear voice rang out loud and crisp from the only tavern in the little town of Blackbough, a chorus of cheers and stomping accompanying the noise like the clap of thunder after a lightning strike. </p><p>Only one bard has enough presence to project his voice halfway across an entire village in Geralt’s experience, so it isn’t difficult to follow the noise into the establishment just as the skies open up above them and begin to pour. Ciri shakes herself as dry as she can in the doorway before tugging her cloak tighter around her small frame and seating herself at the table in the corner closest to the door.</p><p>Geralt doesn’t follow. Can’t force his feet to move because there, standing with his back leaning against the rough wooden surface of the bar and bent over his lute, is Jaskier.</p><p>The usual froppy garments he dons like a second skin are gone, traded for a more muted grey and black ensemble, a color combination Geralt has never seen the troubadour in. It sits wrong with him; Jaskier was always color and noise, a peacock posturing and refusing to tone himself down despite others' opinions. His hair was what got to Geralt the most, though. Gone are the sweeping bangs and boyish haircut the man sported during all their years of travel, meticulously lathering it in oils and caring for it as one would a child. Instead, that same chestnut hair grew to his chin and curled around the ends like he had just stopped caring for it, barely gracing the edge of the stubble covering his jaw as he sings.</p><p>
  <i>I will run alone tonight<br/>
Without you by my side<br/>
I guess you had a place you had to get to<br/>
I know your eyes<br/>
I know inside<br/>
The walls you hide behind</i>
</p><p>The mood in the tavern is somber, the cadence of Jaskier’s voice more deep than Geralt had ever heard it. Gone were the raunchy ditties and flowering praise, replaced with something much more raw sounding. More than a couple tavern ladies had tears in their eyes; even a few men were surreptitiously trying to wipe their eyes without drawing attention to themselves. </p><p>Hell, even Ciri was staring at the bard.</p><p>
  <i>And I saw the truth inside the real you<br/>
Because I know you're lost when you run away<br/>
Into the same black holes and black mistakes<br/>
Taking all my will just to run alone<br/>
When are you coming home?</i>
</p><p>The air around the bard is off, and if Geralt didn’t know any better, he would say the bard seems <i>reluctant.</i> Those long musician’s fingers pluck at the strings of his lute slowly, each digit picking out a melody that was just as enchanting as it was somber.</p><p>It isn’t until he feels a gentle tug on his trousers that he slowly turns his head to Ciri, those wide eyes asking a question he can’t bring himself to answer out loud. His expression must be enough for her though, for she lets go of his clothing and turns her gaze back on the man drawing tears from the crowd, obviously intent on hearing the rest of his song but with a new understanding in her eyes. </p><p>
  <i>Even if the sky does fall<br/>
Even if they take it all<br/>
There’s no pain that I won’t go through<br/>
Even if I have to die for you<br/>
And when all the fires burn<br/>
When everything is overturning<br/>
There’s nothing that I won’t go through<br/>
Even if I have to die for you</i>
</p><p>The final note rings out through the room before fading off to let silence take its place. The air in the tavern is still before a thunderous applause breaks out, patrons whooping and hollering their appreciation for the songs as coin after coin gets tossed toward the bard, who merely tucks his lute into its case and bends to pick up the coin without an ounce of fanfare, almost stoic until all coin is tucked away in his money pouch and he turns to the barkeep with a heavy sigh Geralt can still hear from the doorway. </p><p>“One Rivian Kriek, please.” The barkeep gives the bard a nod and pushes a tankard of the cherry spirit toward him, merely raising an eyebrow when Jaskier slams half of it down in one go, forgoing the usual slow pace he forced himself to adhere to in order to <i>‘fully appreciate the taste, Geralt, you absolute barbarian’.</i></p><p>Before Geralt can stop himself, can force himself to sit beside Ciri and remember what he had been planning to say to the bard since he came to the realization that he had been an ass, he finds himself picking his way through the crowd of people who give him a wide berth until he’s standing right behind the man he wasn't seen in over a year. </p><p>It was odd, seeing Jaskier’s back like this. Usually it was the other way around, the minstrel tagging along behind him like Geralt was some kind of knight carving a path through the Continent, like the man couldn’t bear the thought of not having the witcher in his sights at all times.</p><p><i>”Jaskier,”</i> Geralt rasps, voice breaking for reasons he refuses to look at too closely. Can’t, when those ocean eyes turn and stare him in the face for the first time in what feels like a lifetime, blue steel keeping his gaze and holding it steady in a way Geralt wholly hadn’t expected.</p><p>“Geralt.” Came the toneless reply, curt and to the point in a way Geralt had never known Jaskier to be. It hurt on a whole new level to see the careful way the bard held himself as he turned around and gave him his full attention. Those eyes the witcher dreamed about for the past year regarded him with distrust, something Geralt didn’t, <i>couldn't,</i> blame him for.</p><p>He was the reason for that; his past actions throughout the twenty or so years they traversed hte Continent building up until it finally broke the only person who had truly seen him for <i>him.</i></p><p>Gods, does  it hurt to see what had become of the bard.</p><p>“Is this Jaskier?” A small voice suddenly sounds from Geralt’s side, the little Lioness of Cintra looking up at Jaskier as though he was the answer to every problem the witcher has ever had.</p><p>She’s not wrong.</p><p>In a flash, the guarded expression drops from Jaskier’s face and in its place comes sheer surprise. <i>”Oh,</i> how rude of me!” He gasps before dipping into the most dramatic bow Geralt has seen in a long time, those long musicians fingers taking Ciri’s small hand in his and giving the back of it a chaste kiss. “And who might this beautiful young lady be? Please tell me this wicked witcher didn’t kidnap you and force you to follow him.”</p><p>The giggle Jaskier managed to get from Ciri had Geralt’s too slow heart flipping in his chest. Here he had spent <i>months</i> trying to get the girl to warm up to him, to not be afraid of him like she had been those first few weeks, meek and unwilling to make eye contact until day six of their travels. </p><p>And here Jaskier was, reaching out to her and getting her to laugh within the first few minutes of knowing one another.</p><p>If Geralt were a lesser man, he would be jealous. But when a genuine grin graced Jaskier’s lips in the face of her laughter… well.</p><p>Geralt couldn't bring himself to feel anything but relieved.</p><p>“She’s my Child Surprise.”</p><p>And just like that the happy expression melted from Jaskier’s face. Those previously amused eyes turned to him and the walls were back up, though the bard couldn’t hide the shock that slackened his jaw. “You finally got your head out of your arse and went after her after all, huh?”</p><p>Gentle green eyes flicker  between the two men in nervousness before Geralt manages a terse nod before regaining his bearings and nodding his chin toward the stairs at the back of the tavern that more than likely led to a few rooms for rent. “Do you have a room? We have something to discuss.”</p><p>“I do, in fact.”</p><p>Geralt hummed and turned his gaze down to the girl at his side for a moment before glancing back up at Jaskier, who was tight lipped and fiddling with the strap of his lute in that nervous tick he always had. The minstrel very pointedly did not make a move to the staircase. “Well?”</p><p>That had been the wrong thing to say, apparently. <i>”’Well’?”</i> Jaskier throws up his hands in frustration, though his voice remains tense and to the point as the bard’s body tensed as though in preparation for a fight.. “That’s all you have to say? After <i>all</i> this time?”</p><p>“Jaskier,” Geralt warns as he glances around the very public place they were standing in, glowering at the patrons who hurriedly tore their gazes away when he caught them tuning into their discussion. “We need to talk privately.” </p><p>It seemed theri time apart hadn’t erased the way the bard could read him like an open book, for as soon as Jaskier caught sight of the crowd subtly pressing themselves closer to the edges of the establishment as though expecting some kind of brawl, his body lost the ridgid edge to it as a loud sigh left his lips. “Fine. But I’m not staying longer than a night. After that, you have to get your own room.”</p><p>When the bard opened the door to his temporary room and ushered them inside, Geralt was assaulted with such a wave of sadness and fury that it threatened to knock him over like a brick to the face. The entire room stunk of misery and the chamomile and sweet lemongrass scent that was just purely <i>Jaskier</i>.</p><p>Ciri didn't seem to have any qualms about striding into the room and ripping off her soaked cloak to reveal the commoners clothing they had managed to switch her blue royal outfit. In fact, she didn’t spare the two men a single glance as she plopped down on the bed and began to unlace her boots, very pointedly giving them as much space as she could.</p><p>It was Jaskier who broke the silence. “So your Child Surprise is Princess Cirilla.” He slumped into the creaky desk chair as he ran a hand through his longer hair, the strands becoming mussed up as he trailed that hand down his face. Geralt ignored the way he could see Ciri freeze on the bed. </p><p>“Her name is Fiona.” He corrected. </p><p>“So you brought her here to… to what, have me babysit?” Jaskier huffed, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees, hands clasped between his thighs as he meets Geralt’s gaze head on. “I would be inclined to accept, except I've seen how Nilfgaard operates and I am no fighter. They aren’t known for taking prisoners.”</p><p>The implication had Geralt’s gut twisting. What had the bard seen and been through since they saw each other last? “No, I came here to-” he swallowed the lump in his throat. “To apologize to you. I was… I was wrong. I should not have said those words to you; they weren’t fair and I was just projecting my problems onto you. You don’t deserve that, and I’ll understand if-”</p><p>“I forgive you.”</p><p>Geralt cuts himself off from the ramble he was helpless to hold back as Jaskier lifts his head and offers him a small smile, though his eyes are still impossibly sad. Something fierce claws into his chest at how powerless he feels against that expression. </p><p>“I… I was hoping you would, though I know I have a lot to make up for. To correct.”</p><p>Jaskier nodded. “That, you definitely do. Though I’m much too old to be holding grudges anymore.” A tired sigh blows from his lips and the ends of his hair waver at the gust of air, suddenly looking much older than his early forties despite his flawless skin. “Truthfully, I forgave you the moment those words left your lips. What were they, <i>’If life could give me one blessing, it would be to take you off my hands?’</i>”</p><p>Geralt could practically <i>feel</i> the astonished glare Ciri was giving him, the shock mixing with the hauntingly sweet-sour smell of disappointment. His Child Surprise seemed especially unmoved in his stumbling attempt at pushing out something that effectively portrayed how remorseful he was about the lies he spit at Jaskier up on that blasted mountain, but he was here for Jaskier’s forgiveness, not hers. </p><p>“We want you to come with us to Kaer Morhen,” Ciri interrupts them, unfaltering when they both turn to her. “Geralt and I want to keep you safe, and to be honest, it’ll be a lot more fun if you travel with us.”</p><p>“Why, princess-”</p><p>“Fiona.” She interrupts.</p><p>“-<i>Fiona,</i> I appreciate the invitation but alas, I have already been invited to a court in Oxenfurt for the coming winter. I wouldn’t want to impose myself and be-”</p><p>“You’re not imposing, we want you to come.” Geralt adds.</p><p>“-absolutely <i>rude,</i> Geralt, have you no manners? Besides, as I was saying, I thought humans weren’t allowed at Kaer Morhen. Secret castle crawling with witchers and all that.”</p><p>In the end, all it took was a single ‘please’ from Geralt and a lot of begging and threatening to cry from Ciri before Jaskier agreed, if only to avoid the cataclysm that would unleash itself upon them if Ciri were to make good on her promise.</p><p> </p><p>From there, Jaskier integrates himself into their daily routine in no time at all, like he had been there all along. Like he had been there physically instead of haunting Geralt’s every living moment. The troubadour follows on foot beside Ciri with Geralt flanking her other side on Roach, and when his feet grew blisters and he began to slow, he hopped up onto Ciri’s white mare behind her. Geralt reasons with himself that it’s because Roach would have a harder time carrying two grown men.</p><p>That isn’t the problem. No, the problem is that after his stumbling attempt at an apology up in their rented room, Jaskier hasn’t spoken to him unless asked a direct question, which Geralt would be the first to admit he has trouble forming. Not for lack of trying, but because he finds himself spending more and more time just watching the bard. </p><p>Watches when he carefully tunes the Elven lute Filavandrel gifted him, those calloused fingertips Geralt felt slide across his skin when bandaging wounds and helping him rid his armor after a battle. Watches as Jaskier makes sure his bedroll is situated so Ciri is between them at night, watches as he interacts with the child as though they were lifelong friends, gossiping and whispering to each other when they thought they were being quiet enough to not be heard.</p><p>It’s… disconcerting, definitely; but more than anything,  it’s just unsettling. He finds himself watching every move the bard makes, and though he’s overjoyed the man decided to travel ith them to Kaer Morhen (where he could keep him safe, Geralt thinks,) it feels like something is missing. They were easily falling into the same routines they had before the mountain. They were setting up and breaking down camp as they always had, but there was a disconnect between them that hadn’t been there before. </p><p>A rift between them that he couldn't for the life of him figure out how to cross. </p><p>It isn’t until they settle down just inside some unnamed forest, a week or so away from Kaer Morhen, that he thinks he’s beginning to understand something. </p><p>“Can you tell me a story?” Ciri’s voice is sleepy and sweet, the little girl curled up in her bedroll close to Jaskier, seeking warmth and familiarity as the nights begin to get colder. </p><p>Jaskier hums from where he’s sitting cross legged on his own bedroll, lute held protectively in his hands. “I can do you one better,” He promises, setting aside the resin he kept for polishing his tools of the trade to instead card his fingers through her silvery blonde hair. “How about I sing you a song?” </p><p>As she nods her head in agreement, the soft strumming of a lute fills their campsite before an even softer voice joins in, rough and heartfelt.</p><p>
  <i>I tried to get it right but I was just wasting my time<br/>
Because you never compromised when it came toward us<br/>
We struggle and fall apart, we build it back to static start<br/>
The endless accusations, I can't believe we made it this far<br/>
I've reached out, fell short, now you're hurt, too many words<br/>
Breaking the silence<br/>
I've felt it, bled it, screamed it, it only gets worse<br/>
And then it kills me watching me too angry for us to survive<br/>
I used too many words tonight</i>
</p><p>Throughout the entire song, Jaskier’s eyes never leave Geralt. They feel like a physical touch, and although he admits to not really listening to the bards songs much in their past adventures, he’s sure as hell listening now. </p><p>It’s the only way Jaskier will speak to him. </p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The path to Kaer Morhen is just as perilous and taxing as Geralt remembers it to be. It’s a path no human can cross alone, can’t even see the path unless with a witcher or given a tincture, but that doesn’t stop Jaskier from complaining to Ciri and Roach the entire way up. The bitching only stops when they reach the gate to the only place Geralt could call ‘home’.</p><p>“Wow… it’s…” Ciri starts and stops as she watches the bridge be lowered to allow them access to the crumbling fortress, missing the dark form lingering by the entrance until a man with gray hair and a life hardened face strides confidently toward them with an air of authority. </p><p>Ah, of course he would welcome them.</p><p>“It’s not what it used to be.” Vesemir finishes for her, giving the child mounted on her horse a cursory glance before setting his sharp gaze on the bard holding the princess’s reins. “And who is this?”</p><p>Geralt finds himself straightening when the voice of his teacher reaches his ears. “This is Jaskier. He’s a bard.” The underlying message of <i>harmless</i> is unsaid, but he knows the older witcher catches on, though strangely he doesn’t step aside to allow Jaskier and Ciri to enter. </p><p>“What are you doing here?” The air surrounding them feels thick and static as Geralt watches in barely veiled surprise as Vesemir glares down Jaskier, shoulders held high and body deceptively loose. No one voices how fast Vesemir could take all of them down without a sweat if he wished it.</p><p>No one threatens a wolf’s den and lives. </p><p>But Geralt can’t help his surprise when Jaskier doesn’t balk, doesn’t startle at the subtle hostile way he’s being talked to. The man screamed when a <i>branch</i> tickled his  back in the dark once; the only danger he posed was danger to himself, so the fact that the most seasoned witcher left alive found something about him to be wary about was almost comical. In fact, the bard only seems to stand up straighter at the confrontation, leveling his gaze with the oldest witcher despite the height and size difference. “I’m not here to cause harm, witcher. I’m here for them.” He tilts his head toward his two traveling companions without breaking eye contact with the leader of the School of the Wolf. </p><p>Vesemir must see something in Jaskier’s expression because not long after that, he’s stepping back and turning to lead them into the ruins of the castle without another word. A few tense seconds of confused silence from the new arrivals stretches on before the elder witcher breaks the silence. “Lambert and Eskel are already here. You’re the last to show, and judging by the weather, you’ll be the last this winter.”</p><p>Without knowing it, Geralt feels a weight fall off his shoulders at the news his brothers managed to make it here before they were snowed in. It was always a treat to see them when their Paths converged, and the fact that he had Ciri and Jaskier safe with him made it all the better. </p><p>A few feet before they were stepping foot into the fortress Geralt could navigate with his eyes closed, Jaskier speaks up. “Am I the first of my kind to be welcomed in? If so, it’s an honor.” </p><p>His tone is light and airy, much like the man himself, but Geralt doesn’t miss the glance Vesemir throws over his shoulder at him. After a stretch of silence, he says, “Yes. You are the first.” </p><p>It was said in such a way that if one wasn’t paying attention, it would sound like they were just a man and a mutant making pleasantries. Geralt knew better though, and when it was silent save for the clops of the horses, he couldn’t help but wonder what the fuck that was about.</p><p> </p><p>The Witchers of the School of the Wolf clearly don’t find Jaskier as interesting as Vesemir had, though they are always quick to turn their backs to him after scarce pleasantries to focus on training Ciri. Jaskier seemed to notice this early on, and when Geralt catches a whiff of the disappointment rolling off the bard, he nearly trips over himself to make sure he never has to smell that sour scent again. “Jaskier,” He begins, turning from a sweaty Lambert and pointing at the minstrel with his practice sword. “A long time ago, I told you I'd teach you how to defend yourself. I didn’t get the chance to show you.”</p><p>That seems to rip Jaskier out of the funk he was in as he takes in the words It takes a minute before the bard comes to a decision and carefully sets aside his notebook and quill on a boulder just out of range of the sparring grounds they were all gathered around.</p><p>“Would you like to learn now?” </p><p>Ciri whoops and cheers as the bard hesitates only a moment before confidently striding his way into the sparring ring to stand beside a shirtless Lambert, who heaves a put upon sigh and tosses Jaskier the wooden training sword he had been using. Deft musicians' fingers catch the prop quickly and turn it over for a moment before dropping it to the ground without another glance. “I don’t use swords.” He shrugs at the curiously confused looks Ciri and the other witchers are giving him, though the three men try to appear as though they aren’t watching.</p><p>Geralt grunts. “We can do hand to hand if you want, but I’d prefer if you learn how to use a weapon.” </p><p>Geralt watches as Jaskier places his hands on his hips and takes a moment to glance upwards at the sky and huff before striding over to the weapons rack just outside the designated training area and picking up a small dagger. “Suit yourself.” </p><p>From there, Geralt falls back into the stance that had been beaten into him since his early childhood, battles and violence so tightly wound in his blood that he barely has the presence of mind to be caught off guard when Jaskier mirrors his crouched stance, weapon held deftly in his hand. They circle each other like hawks, waiting for the right moment to strike before Lambert calls out a “Come on, you’re just dancing at this point! Fight!”</p><p>Quick as a predator, Geralt strikes out with his wooden sword, aiming to clip Jaskier on the shoulder and prevent the bard from hurting himself. This wasn’t a tussle with his brothers; this was a human he was sparring against, a fragile man who Geralt couldn’t bear the thought of physically hurting, so he supposes that’s why he subconsciously reigns in his strength as he brings the sword down in a sharp sweep that was meant to take Jaskier out.</p><p>What his sword actually manages to do is slice thin air as Jaskier ducks and rights himself once more, not a hair out of place as he stood stock still waiting for Geralt to try again. And try again he did, but despite speeding up his movements and really going for the win, Jaskier was able to keep up with him and either block or parry his assault.</p><p>Him, a witcher.</p><p>Through the stench of sweat and dirt, Geralt could smell the surprise coming from his brothers at Jaskier’s surprising display of mastery with a dagger. The courtyard reeked of it, but beneath it, a hint of burned lemongrass assaulted his nose, filling his lungs and threatening to suffocate him. It was distracting enough a scent to force Geralt to push a strong gush of air out of his nose to rid himself of the smell, and  in that amount of time, Jaskier managed to dodge his last attempt to bring the bard down and jab the wooden dagger into his exposed armpit, effectively winning their sparring lesson.</p><p>Not a word was said as Jaskier stared at Geralt for a moment before dropping the dagger and walking  back into the fortress without a word. </p><p>Around them, no one made a sound. </p><p> </p><p>After a few weeks that felt like months, Jaskier and the other witchers seemed to form a sort of tentative friendship. Sure, Jaskier was his usual loud and cheery self with Geralt’s brothers, but around Vesemir, he seemed almost… ashamed? No, that wasn’t right. It was in the glances he threw at Geralt when the older witcher wasn’t looking, the way the bard stubbornly refused to spar again even when Lambert and Eskel invited him, preferring to spend his time wandering the fortress and composing songs. </p><p>Everything was reaching a careful balance; everyone was finding their place and their own routines when it all goes to shit one night. </p><p>Everyone except Geralt were all seated at the only remaining dinner table digging into a stew made from the deer Lambert caught earlier that afternoon, chatting amongst themselves and deep in their cups by the time Jaskier finishes his dinner and begins strumming mindless melodies in his heat beside Geralt’s empty seat. </p><p>“Where the fuck is the sourpuss?” Lambert hollars across the table at Vesemir, who calmly sips White Gull from his tankard. </p><p>“Lower your voice. He went to sleep early, said something about going out on a trail early tomorrow and needs his rest.” Lambert rolls his eyes at Vesemir’s answer but turns his attention back to his own drink.<br/>
“Do you only play the lute? I haven’t heard you play anything else.” Eskel inquires from across the table as he chews on a particularly chewy piece of meat, curiosity lighting up his scarred face. Jaskier offers him a smile. Out of the three witchers, Jaskier knows Eskel is the one who likes him best. </p><p>“I was taught how to play many instruments. I had a lot of time to learn, but the only one I really resonated with was the lute.” He wiggled his fingers over the chords to emphasize his point. “Granted, it wasn’t until I was able to escape to Oxenfurt that I started to try my hand at playing other instruments.”</p><p>Eskel nods along as though their discussion about instruments was of much more importance than anything else. “Where were you before you went to Oxenfurt?”</p><p>At that, Jaskier’s jovial expression faded fast. He was quick to put a smile on his face but wasn’t quick enough to hide it from the table’s occupants. “I supposed this would come up sooner or later.”</p><p> </p><p>“Geralt never asked?” Eskel guessed, ignoring the glare he got from Lambert as the younger man grumbled under his breath about the old white wolf needing his beauty sleep.</p><p>Jaskier shrugged. “Never really asked many questions, that one. But to answer you, I grew up in Lettenhove.”</p><p>All the air felt as though it got sucked out of the room at once. No one moved as they stared at Jaskier with intense looks, the only one still eating without a care being Ciri, who Jaskier had already told. <i>”Lettenhove?”</i> Lambert repeated incredulously. </p><p>Jaskier nodded at him as he pushed around a stray carrot on his plate. “Yes. I grew up in Lettenhove. Lived there for a while in my youth before moving on.”</p><p>“But Lettenhove-” </p><p>“Was torn apart by a group of Bruxae on the night of a full moon, I know the legend.” Jaskier cut Lambert off with a wave of his hand before going back to strumming mindlessly, clearly wishing the conversation to be over. “I lived there long after the attack. People rebuild and carry on, such is our way of life.”</p><p>“The Attack on Lettenhove was over a hundred years ago,” Vesemir grunted as he drained the last of his drink. “Wasn’t there when it happened, but I saw what was left.”</p><p>“Yeah, but you’re only what, twenty something?” Lambert pointed his fork at Jaskier as a frown crossed his face. “You humans were really dumb enough to rebuild a place that was so easily taken down by monsters so soon?”</p><p>A short span of silence broken only by the scrape of Lambert’s fork against his plate sounded before Jaskier shrugged. “I suppose so.”</p><p>And that was that until the end of the meal everyone was eating in silence until Ciri tugged on Jaskier’s blue doublet sleeve and begged for him to play a song. “No one’s talking and i’m bored. Can you sing the one about Geralt? I like that one.”</p><p>And Jaskier, weak to the whims of the little girl he considered Geralt’s daughter, was helpless to say no.</p><p>
  <i>Torches of war under hatred’s sails<br/>
A whisper of doom on a wary breeze<br/>
Scorching the shores in a blazing trail<br/>
Cinder and fume foul the air we breathe</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Blood of fallen kings<br/>
Blades of chaos ring<br/>
Steel and silver sing<br/>
For justice</i>
</p><p>Ciri hummed along as she finished off her stew and leaned back in her chair to watch the way Jaskier plucked out a melody that matched his voice. </p><p>
  <i>Keen to the scent, the hunt is my muse<br/>
A means to an end this path that I choose<br/>
Lost and aloof are the loves of my past</i>
</p><p>
  <i>Wake the White Wolf!<br/>
Remembrance at last<br/>
Wake the White Wolf at the dawn of war<br/>
The end of the age is coming now-</i>
</p><p> </p><p>“Oh my fucking <i>god</i>” Lambert interrupts with a groan from the end of the table, running a hand over his face in exasperation. “Do you have to sing about that old man even when he’s not <i>here?</i>”</p><p>“Lambert …” Eskel warns.</p><p>“No, this is getting ridiculous!” The youngest witcher pushes himself to his feet before brandishing a pointed finger in Jaskier’s direction, drunken frustration practically dripping from his voice. “I have to hear enough of those blasted songs about you all over the damn <i>Continent;</i> can’t you sing something else?”</p><p>“That’s uncalled for.” Eskel frowns disapprovingly at his brother before casting apologetic eyes at the bard who continues to strum his lute, though his voice has quieted. </p><p>“Just fuck Geralt already, the pining is getting absolutely sickening-” The harsh sound of a lute being slammed down on the table cut Lambert off, the echo the chords made reverberating in the large room that used to hold so many sound just as empty as the cups on the table. </p><p>The air was almost alive with the burning scent of Jaskier’s rage, crashing against the stone walls like his fury alone was enough to topple the fortress that had withstood mobs and monster attacks. It was suffocating, it was unexpected.</p><p>It was <i>dangerous.</i></p><p>But instead of the fight the witchers were mentally preparing for, from the bard and then from Geralt for upsetting his bard, Jaskier simply took his lute and walked out of the room, not even turning around when the sound of Eskel smacking Lambert upside the head rang out.</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>The day Yennefer portals in with a request to take Ciri to Aretuza is the day where everything changes. </p><p>In the month they had spent at Kaer Morhen, Jaskier had started speaking to Geralt again, though mostly with clipped sentences and one word answers. It was alright; as long as the bard was speaking to him willingly again, Geralt would take what he could get, not wanting to push for more and scare the man away from the delicate situation they were in.</p><p>Yennefer, though… in true Yennefer fashion, she didn’t give a shit about being delicate. “Still toting the bardling around the Continent, I see?” She smirked as she sat herself down in a plush chair she magicked into the decrepit library.</p><p>“Not now, Yen.” Geralt sighed as he pulled another moth bitten book off the dusty shelves and checked it before setting it back to keep searching. </p><p>“If not now, then when?” She retorted as she scanned the few books set open in her lap, pages turning every now and again with a flick of her hand. “I have to admit, I didn’t think you’d let someone like him trail you and Ciri around.”</p><p>At that, Geralt paused as he pulled out a book on Leshens. “‘Someone like him’?”</p><p>Yennefer hummed. “Yes, someone like him. I didn’t really appreciate the song he made about us, but I’m still surprised you let him trail you like a lost puppy after that.”</p><p>“Song?” Geralt parrots, staring at Yennefer like she had grown a second head. Which was apparently not appreciated as those purple eyes narrowed at him. </p><p>“Tell me, Geralt, are you intentionally obtuse or are you really that oblivious?”</p><p>Alright, that hurt a little bit. They don’t have any romance between them anymore, not since he realized his feelings about the bard and decided to have him or no other, but Geralt still respected her for the power she wielded, the unmovable fortress that was her will. </p><p>“I’m not oblivious.” </p><p>“Oh, no, surely you’re not serious?” Yennefer huffs a laugh. “WIth how you neglected to listen to his warbling pining the past twenty or so years, you probably didn’t notice what he is, either.”</p><p>At that, the entire world comes screeching to a halt for Geralt. Stiffly, as though he was barely holding himself together, he turns to face Yennefer fully with as blank a face as he could muster. “What do you mean, ‘what he is’? He’s human.”</p><p>The look he gets from the sorceress makes the hair on the back of his neck stand up in a mixture of terror and confusion. His medallion never vibrated around the bard, his enhanced senses never told him the bard was anything but mortal, anything but a fragile <i>human.</i> No scent of magic clung to him like it did Yennefer and every other magic user Geralt had run into, so he wasn’t wearing a glamour or anything of the sort.</p><p>But then, bits of memories came to mind. A memory of Vesemir blocking Jaskier from entering their home and demanding to know why he was there, of how Jaskier so easily kept up with Geralt when sparring, of how, in the twenty or so years they’ve known each other, Jaskier hadn’t outwardly aged a day over nineteen. </p><p>Like being stuck underwater when his Whale potion wore out, his lungs filling with water, Geralt came to the conclusion with a sinking feeling in his stomach that what Yennefer was saying was true. All the signs were there, <i>had</i> been there the entire time; Geralt had just kept his head up his own arse long enough to not notice the tells.</p><p>With a tongue that feels like lead in his mouth, Geralt grabs the bookshelf for balance to keep his legs from buckling under him. “Yennefer,” he growled in a rush, barely able to force himself to stay still and not rush to Jaskier’s room and demand answers from the bard himself. <i>”What is he?”</i>”</p><p>The look of pity the sorceress gives him only makes him feel ashamed, feel inexplicably <i>defeated</i> by something he hadn’t had even an inkling about.</p><p>“It’s not my place to say.” Yennefer finally sighs, uncrossing her legs and eveling Geralt with a stern look. “Back when you brought him to me, bleeding and dying because of a djinn wish, I healed him. Remember?” She doesn't wait for him to respond before continuing. “My magic didn’t work at first because he’s not human. I had to alter the cure to effectively treat him, and before I had a look into his mind, I had no way of knowing what he is. He hides it very well, from the memories I’ve seen.” </p><p>“What-”</p><p>“Geralt.” Yennefer cuts him off, a strange steel in her eyes that wasn’t there before. “I’ll tell you nothing more. Go to him. Ask him. He won’t hurt you.” She leans back into her plush chair with a sigh. “If I were you, I’d go to him sooner rather than later.”</p><p>From there, Geralt was an unstoppable whirlwind through the halls of Kaer Morhen until he found himself outside Jaskier’s door, pausing to take a deep breath before shouldering the door open without pause and fisting the front of that damned golden doublet in his trembling hand, throwing Jaskier like a rag doll against the wall beside his bed. The bard barely blinked as he was manhandled; he simply dropped his lute on the bed when he saw it was Geralt barging into his room, the resignation on his face and in his scent enough to rile the witcher more than he was willing to admit. </p><p>“Hello, Geralt.” Jaskier murmured, his gaze set somewhere on Geralt’s face, though he wouldn't meet those catlike eyes. “I’m sure Vesemir doesn’t appreciate his door being-”</p><p><i>”What are you?”</i> Geralt growled in Jaskier’s face, flashing the sharp canines he tried to hide from humans so they weren’t scared of him; weren’t exposed to more monstrous parts of himself. Those cornflower blue eyes he came to associate with ‘home’ were full of sorrow and regret and suddenly, Geralt couldn't take this.</p><p>Couldn’t take being lied to for the entire time they had known each other. His heart  was beating a frantic pace against his ribcage in a way he hadn’t felt in decades, screaming at him to forget and go back to the way things were, the little touches they shared when passing in the halls, the smile and huff of laughter they managed to pull from one another, finally forgiven for the worst betrayal. </p><p>Suddenly, cool hands were cupping his face, brushing against the edge of his eyes to wick away moisture Geralt was mortified was gathering there. <i>”Geralt,”</i> Jaskier whispered, so small and afraid, as those lute calloused fingertips gingerly tucked an errant strand of hair behind his ear. “I’m Jaskier. I’m who you’ve always known. I didn’t tell you because I was afraid. I… I know you can’t physically kill me, <i>none</i> of you could, but I didn’t want to be hurt emotionally. I-I couldn’t do that again,” The words bubbling forth from Jaskier’s lips were tinged in the scent of panic, of <i>fear,</i> and something in Geralt’s chest felt like it shattered. “You broke my heart, Geralt. Broke it so bad I let myself go, tried to stay away from you so you couldn’t kill me the way I was slowly killing myself.”</p><p>
  The fist in Jaskier’s doublet shook as Geralt pushed him harder against the stone wall, crowding him against the surface in a weak attempt at forcing the answers out of him. <i>”Jaskier.”</i>
</p><p>
Expressive ocean eyes flashed a deep red for a split second before Jaskier sighed. Suddenly Geralt’s fist wrinkling the delicate silk of Jaskier’s doublet was pried off the bard with an ease no human could pull off. He grabbed Geralt’s wrist and held it still, not budging an inch when the witcher furiously tried to wrench himself free. “I never tried to hide what I am from you, you know. You assumed I was human and never asked for confirmation, so I just… let you believe I was useless. That I was something, <i>someone</i> to be protected.”
</p><p>
  As Jaskier remained calm and collected, like a man who had given up hope while being led to the gallows, Geralt was, in contrast, snarling at the man in front of him. 
</p><p>
  A wry smile graced Jaskier’s lips as he let go of Geralt, careful to remain against the wall in an impressive imitation of a statue as the witcher raged and mourned, spit vitrole at him for lying to him all these years. Jaskier let the man wear himself out before gesturing to the bed beside them. “Please sit down, Geralt. I’ll tell you everything, and then you can do what you think is best.”
</p><p>
  <i>“Jaskier-” </i>
</p><p>
  <i>”Please,</i> Geralt. I’ll answer any questions you have.”
</p><p>
  That plea was what sucked the fight out of Geralt, replacing the emptiness in his chest with sorrow and betrayal as he practically collapsed onto the bed, burying his face in his hands. “Have you killed?” Was the first question from his lips, refusing to look at the other man as he felt the slighter man sit himself down gingerly on the edge of the bed as well. 
</p><p>
  “Only those who deserved it.” Jaskier sighed. “I… I don’t like killing. Only do it in self defense, really. I- I don’t need to kill to live, like other creatures that roam the Continent. Vesemir knows this.”
</p><p>
  That confession prompted Geralt to lock gazes with the man he wished the world for, fighting against his instinct to bury the man in his arms when he saw the way Jaskier completely crumbled before him. 
</p><p>
  “Vesemir was the one who found me, back in Lettenhove.” Jaskier sniffled, roughly brushing his tears away with the heel of his palms. “You’ve heard of the legend, I know you have. You know that no one survived the slaughter; that only Bruxae walked out of there, fully fed and bloody. And to an extent, that’s right- I didn’t leave. I stayed holed up in the shambles of the home I once had, writhing on the ground as I went through the Change by myself, crying and screaming for a family who had been ripped apart.” Jaskier sucked in a shaky breath, and despite knowing he shouldn’t until the man confessed what he was, Geralt reached between them and laid a hand on one of the other man’s pale ones. That seemed to give Jaskier the courage to finish his story, the sniffling slowly coming to a stop. “There weren’t just Bruxae. There was a Higher Vampire who accompanied them, and he was the one who turned me. Said he saw something in me when I tried to protect my family at the age of ten. When Vesemir found me, I ran. I ran because I didn’t want to hurt anyone, didn’t want to be what I am. And he didn’t chase me because he probably thought I was just some traumatized human.”
</p><p>
  The admission hits Geralt deep, his body feeling like a rock troll threw him down a ravine. 
</p><p>
  “I wandered after that, staying away from people. I… I didn’t want to be like the things that tore my village apart, that made me into <i>this.”</i> Jaskier spat. “So I remade myself, and as the decades went by, I learned to control that side of myself. Learned to keep my strength contained, how to act defenseless enough that humans thought me one of them. And then I wandered into Posada, finally having perfected the mask of who I was before everything changed.”
</p><p>
  “You’re a Higher Vampire.” Geralt breathes. Shock has made him loose-lipped, it seemed. “All this time, every time you wandered too close to our contracts, you weren’t in any danger at all.” He mused with an unbelieving scoff. “Fuck, you probably could have taken all of those contracts on yourself without a scratch.”
</p><p>
  That shocks a watery laugh out of Jaskier, and Geralt is pleased to see some of the tension bleed out from the other man, though he can still see the bard was uncomfortable. “I could have, but I don't  like fighting. Though to be honest, that djinn curse really was a pain in the ass.”
</p><p>
  Geralt let out a soft hum as the anger slowly left him and a different feeling crept into his bones, into his entire being before he could recognize it for what it was.
</p><p>
  <i>
    <i>Relief.</i>
  </i>
</p><p>
  Relief that Jaskier wasn’t mortal, wasn’t as fragile as he always thought the man to be. Was irrevocably immortal and stronger than the witcher himself.
</p><p>
  There was a reason why witchers rarely, if ever, took contracts on Higher Vampires.
</p><p>
  “Why me?” Geralt finds himself whispering, not missing the way Jaskier curls his hands around the one the larger man had given him to calm himself. 
</p><p>
  Jaskier smiled a sad little grin. “Well, I did promise to tell you everything.” A rattling breath was sucked into lungs that were more indestructible than anything the witcher had ever possessed.  “I followed you because I loved you the second I saw you.” He admitted in a whisper. “A mutant created to hunt monsters, attracting the love of the strongest monster out there? It was like some kind of tragic ballad. You’re a good man, Geralt, and after that scuffle with the Elves that first time, I decided to dedicate my life to making sure everyone else on the Continent knows how <i>good</i> you are. The more I tagged along, the more I fell <i>in</i> love with you.”
</p><p>
  Geralt couldn’t breathe. While he had definitely noticed the bard tossing him flirty winks and outright propositions over the years, he always thought it was in jest. The man fell in love with everyone he met, every single person he brought to tavern rooms and hallways and courts; how was Geralt supposed to know? How was he supposed to know that every person Jaskier took to bed who resembled him, from pale haired wives to solid bodied men, that he was trying to convince himself that Geralt wasn’t interested?
</p><p>
  “Jaskier,” Geralt whispers, voice breaking at the end when watery eyes meet his. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know.” 
</p><p>
  Jaskier just shakes his head. “I know. I didn’t tell you, either, because I was afraid you would leave. You didn’t want anyone needing you and I tried to give you that.”
</p><p>
  It hurt to hear his past words had such an effect on the bard, but Geralt had to make something clear. “I love you, too.”
</p><p>
  And, after a moment of stunned silence, Geralt found himself with an armful of sobbing bard, hot and salty tears pressed against the skin of his neck as Jaskier buried his face in the junction of his jaw and neck and let himself go.  He warbled, voice distorted against skin as Geralt squeezed him close, unwilling to ever let go again. 
</p><p>
“Shh, I’m not leaving, Jaskier.” Geralt hummed in a low tone, knowing Jaskier could feel it vibrating in his chest with how closely they were pressed together. “I wish you had told me a long time ago, but everything is alright. I love you no matter what you are.”
</p><p>
 Jaskier continued to heave sobs against the witcher's skin until his shirt was damp with snot and tears, only stopping when he had cried himself out. Once he was calmed down enough to stop wailing, Geralt pressed soft, cautious kisses to the man’s temples until the hitching breaths that made his heart hurt slowed down until they eventually stopped. 
</p><p>
“Geralt.” The smooth voice Geralt heard in his dreams was wrecked now, Jaskier’s poor throat more than likely sore from all the crying he had done. “I have to tell you one last thing.”<br/>
After everything that had happened that day, Geralt wasn’t worried. “Hmmm.”
</p><p>
  “My name,” Jaskier murmured into Geralt’s chest as the witcher pulled them both down onto the mattress so they were laying down, the smaller man draped over his chest so he could happily bury his face in those chin length chestnut locks and scent the man. “My real name is Julian Alfred Pankratz, Viscount de Lettenhove.”
</p><p>
 A soft snuffle sent some of the hair on Jaskier’s head askew as Geralt mulled over the information he had just been given. “Jaskier sounds better. More… fitting.”
</p><p>
The laugh his comment pulled from the man in his arms who smelled like chamomile and sweet lemongrass was worth everything. 
</p><p>
  
</p><p>
  <i>
<i>Tell me where the good men go<br/>
Before I wash away<br/>
Walk me down the old brick road<br/>
So I can die where I met you<br/>
Hold me like we're going home<br/>
Turn your tears to rain<br/>
Bury me beautiful<br/>
Heaven knows how I loved you</i>
  </i>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>The songs used in this fic are, in order:<br/>"Die for You" by Starset<br/>"Too Many Words" by Sick Puppies<br/>"Wake the White Wolf" by Miracle of Sound<br/>"Heaven Knows" by Five for Fighting</p></blockquote></div></div>
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